The Renaissance
by MystyKitty
Summary: “Grow up Hermione? I’ve been a grown up since I was a year old, I’ve never had the chance to be a child let alone a chance to grow up." A twist of fate remedies this problem for Harry and Hermione is left with the pieces.
1. Chapter 1

The Renaissance

AN: Well I'm back, at least for awhile, this story came about after I got into a rather heated discussion with my mother about Harry's childhood. Don't worry though, this should be a light hearted story and since I'm not working from an outline this time it probably won't be very long. Be prepared however, as this is AU, and I have elected to completely disregard huge chunks of both HBP and DH.

I hope you enjoy my foray into comedy.

--C

Prologue

It was over.

The battles had been fought, bad guys defeated and sadly, the dead had been buried and mourned. Now was the time a renaissance, a rebirth of Wizarding culture that wasn't tinged with old prejudices and fear.

It was a time for celebrating and rebuilding their heritage. It was a time for back-breaking work, joy and celebration.

It wasn't time for moping, guilt tripping, or the dark black pits of depression and self pity.

Unfortunately for the wizarding world their savior and hero was not just a victim of one such dark misery but all of them. But it was worse then that, because Mr. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Dark Wizard Slayer, Order of Merlin First Class awardee, and all around hero was hiding.

Hiding in his room in the dark, refusing to acknowledge owls, floo calls, or outraged knocks on the door. Hiding from the people he mistakenly thought he let down and the people who let him down. He hid from well wishers and manipulators, he even hid from friends old and new.

He just wanted to be alone to wrap his head around the new world he was living in. A world where he was an adult, and a hero, and expected to bring in a new era of change and peace, when all he wanted was a vacation in his nice dark room.

Once again though, Harry wasn't going to get the one thing that he really wanted, because Hermione Granger was tired of waiting, tired of answering questions about him from the press and the Ministry, tired of making food that never got eaten and tired of not having her friend anymore. This time when she knocked on the door if he didn't answer she was going in anyway to knock on his head.

*~*~*

"Harry?" Her voice was carefully modulated to hide how close to the edge she was; it wouldn't do to let him know that she was having a hard time too.

He didn't answer.

"Harry? If you don't answer me I'm coming in." This time she wasn't quite as nice.

She opened the door, ignoring the sting as she walked right through the ward on the door.

"Harry," she talked to the figure curled up near the window, a small frame and messy hair showed through the gloom of the room. "Hasn't this gone on long enough? You've been hiding for weeks, since the last funeral, the work isn't over yet. I know you've done more than anyone else alive but the is still so much left to do. Don't you understand that?"

"I understand." The voice was thick with tears and disuse. "But I don't have anything left. You are the only reason I've even stayed alive this long, let alone in Britain." He ran a thin hand through messy hair and he tried to put his thoughts in order. "Everyone but you has gone. My parents are dead, Sirius, Remus, and Tonks have also died, and the Weasley's have dead of their own to mourn. Ron hasn't even tried to see me."

Hermione tried to swallow her irritation. It was true, he had lost a lot but then, so had she, so had so many in the world. "Don't you think it's time that you stop crying and whining, and grow up? Bad things happened, all you can do is mourn for the lost, and then suck it up and solider on. That's how life as a grown up is."

Harry looked up at her, and she was staggered by the emptiness in his eyes. "Grow-up, Hermione? I've been a grown-up since I was a year old, I've never had the chance to be a child let alone a chance to 'grow up.'" He shook his head and walked slowly over to the dresser where his collections of potions sat.

Potions for pain, skin regeneration, stomach aches, dreamless sleep and bone strengtheners. Hidden in the back was the potion he had been contemplating for weeks. Draught of the Living Death might just be his only way to get some rest.

"Hermione, I've been forced to work as a slave by people who should have loved me, I've fought magical creatures, and psychopaths for years. Hell, I killed someone before I turned twelve. Where was my childhood? Where is my reward for splintering my soul? All I get is a brass medal and a list of new and impossible tasks. If I don't get a childhood, don't I at least deserve a vacation.?"

Hermione felt sick, she knew his life had been hard, she knew that he was older then he should be, but the desperate tone in his voice sent shivers down her spine in a whole new way.

"Harry, I don't--" her brain failed her, she didn't know how to help him. She had no insights or pep talks to give him, he was right, he deserved more then an award and more work.

That was when she noticed his potions just a moment too late. "Living death...? Harry, this is incredibly unstable when exposed to penny flower --"

Harry didn't hear her or he didn't care as he opened both his vacation and the headache potion and threw them into his mouth at the same time, completely forgetting about the the simple fact that the pickled newt eyes in the headache potion would destabilize the magic field generated by the penny flower in the Draught of the Living Death resulting in some sort of totally unpredictable magical accident. The last time the combo had been allowed together, a Wizarding potioneer in Italy watched a volcano devastate his homeland. This time, and in this incident the magical accident wasn't nearly as destructive, but it could be argued that is was as impressive as Mt. Vesuvius.

Because where a world weary and tired hero once stood in confrontation with his best friend, after the smoke cleared and the concussive booming stopped it became evident that in the place of our hero sat a chubby little boy with wispy black hair that still managed to look messy and crystal clear emerald eyes.

As for the best friend...

All she could say was "Crap."


	2. Rebirth

Chapter 2: Rebirth

I don't own harry Potter, and I make no money from the posting of this piece of creative activity.

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Miss Hermione Granger was spoiled.

She didn't admit it of course but a good portion of her life could be described as "What Hermione wants Hermione gets." For instance, when a bully stole her book in primary school, and refused to give it back when she demanded it, the bully somehow managed to gently toss her the book and then fall off of the swing set. That was the official story regardless of the fact that the incident occurred at the other end of the playground.

In fact an even better example of this predisposition towards self satisfaction can be seen in Hermione: The Hogwart's Years. Hermione wanted good grades, so she earned them. She wanted friends and so she got them, even if she had to lie and break the rules. She wanted to learn everything and convinced adults that not only was it a good idea, but it was also important to allow her to learn by any means necessary, even if that meant putting a highly restricted and possibly dangerous magical artifact in the hands of a thirteen year old girl. The examples continue through the years at Hogwarts and past. Fourth year she wanted to be seen as more than a gender neutral bookworm, so she got a date with one of the most eligible bachelors when she was just fourteen. In fifth year she objected so strongly to anyone disrupting her education that not only did she engineer a highly illegal, unsupervised club to help her learn out of class, but she removed the unsavory element from her school with no mercy.

Admittedly the sixth and seventh year of her magical schooling were hard for her. She didn't get exactly what she wanted and was in turns left in tears and heartbroken by betrayal and death. She didn't give up though, when any other spoiled princess would have fallen down in tears. She didn't give up because there was another driving force in Hermione Granger's life that was totally unacknowledged, but was just as, if not significantly more powerful than her desire to get her own way.

What is that part you ask?

It is the part of her that made her lie to a teacher about a troll, to defend a scared boy against the whole school, and brew restricted potions to help prove his innocence. It was what gave her the strength to tell an adult something when she knew it would drive a wedge between her and her friends. It was behind her willingness to abuse a restricted magical artifact, and to harbor a fugitive. It was the force behind her spending hours helping that same scared boy study spells needed to save his life and to once again separate herself from the rest of the school to defend him. It was the force behind her fear of a book and totally irrational behavior.

It was the reason she sent her own parent's to Australia and the reason she fought in a war and allowed herself to be in a situation where she could and was tortured. It was the reason she wanted her friend to move past the horror and sadness of the war and move on with his life,

Have you guessed it yet?

The other driving force in Hermione Granger's life is the simple fact that Mr. Harry Potter should always be as safe and happy as she could make him.

*~*~*

Hermione stared in shock at the chubby toddler sitting on the ground in front of her. Could this apple cheeked baby really be her skinny best friend?

"Harry?" Her throat was tight as she ran through the component parts of both headache potion and the draught of living death, nothing except penny flower complications could explain the strangeness in front of her.

The baby waved his arms and babbled at her happily not using any words that she understood.

"Harry? Do you understand me? Is that you?" The little boy bounced.

"Harry."

She got down on her knees next to the boy and smiled shakily, could her friend just be trapped in a little person's body?

"Harry do you remember what happened? Oh Merlin, I didn't know that you were this unhappy, why didn't you talk to me, we could have figured something out, there isn't a cure for draught of living death. You have to know that I would do anything for you." Her voice was filled with pain and an undertone of anger, why would her best friend do something so reckless?

Little Harry seemed to sense something different in her voice and his happy smile crumpled into a frown.

"Sad now?" Harry's little baby lip began to quiver as his green eyes filled with tears. He reached out his hand a gently touched her face. "No be sad."

That was when that portion of Hermione that was totally devoted to Harry Potter kicked in and whispered in her ear...

'Don't be sad, Harry doesn't want you to be sad.'

She smiled unconsciously at the cuteness in front of her. She inhaled a few times and tried not to scare the boy. "Hi there. Don't worry I'm not sad." The green eyes lit up and a smile like Hermione had never seen before spread across his face. It was amazing to see such joy in such a simple thing. "So little man what's your name?"

"Harry my boy." His chubby hands clapped together and he bounced a little, happy to know the answer to the nice lady's questions.

"Harry hmmm? Do you know your Mum or your Daddy?"

The little boy's brow furrowed, as he smiled, once again he knew the answer to her question. "uh huh," he nodded his head, "Mummy and Daddy."

Hermione had to stifle her irritation. Not at Harry, but at herself, what else would a toddler know his parents as?

"Do you have any uncles? or friends?"

Once again Harry bounced when he knew the answer. "My uncle Paddy and Moony. They funny." he face fell and a shiver ran down his little body, and he leaned in closer to her ear. "The meanies."

She looked at him and dreaded asking, "Who are the meanies Harry?"

He sat and pouted for a minute. He was getting bored of answering questions it was time to play with the nice lady. "The meanies are my aunt and uncle but they mean and I don't like 'em. Daddy says they bastards, but Mommy says that's a naughty word even if they are." He looked the lady in the eye once again. "Can we play now? The meanies never let me play like Daddy and Uncle Paddy. What's your name Lady? Will you play with me?"

That place inside of Hermione devoted to Harry started shouting and waving banners twelve feet tall that all read 'play with the baby.'

"Ok, little man we can play. What's your favorite game?"

"Hidey hole." The boy covered his eyes and started to count. "Don't forget to hide real good Lady, I'm a good searcher."

"Sure Harry my man I'll start looking." The delighted giggle and the sound of careful, non linear counting filled the room.

"One, two, five, thirty three, fifteen, twenty two."

The giggle was the final straw, the Harry part of Hermione Granger stormed the rational side and conquered all the opposition. Once again Hermione was going to do whatever it took to not only keep Harry Potter safe, but also happy.

Miss Hermione Granger was going to give Harry Potter the one thing he never experienced.

A childhood.


End file.
